


hope is a waking dream

by asterismos



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterismos/pseuds/asterismos
Summary: Viktor can't imagine life without Makkachin at his side, and he doesn't know how to cope without him. He searches for answers in Yuri in hopes of support, comfort, and maybe even more. Yuri's trying his best.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omfg_otp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omfg_otp/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for the beautiful, wonderful Mary aka @mortal-apollo (Tumblr)/@omg-otp (Ao3), who has always been there to scream with me about Victuuri and to the badass Perses aka @dorkabeth (Tumblr), who has helped with the Discord GC Secret Santa and has always been a kickass friend! Hope you and all of you readers out there have/had a wonderful holiday season!
> 
> Oh, also, the Russian is roughly translated into English upon hover. So just mouse over the text to read the translation.
> 
> Thank you to my betas, Maya (lordzarcock on Tumblr) and Jason (dancing-ace-skeletons on Tumblr), for looking over this for me! Also thank you to Anzhelika for looking over the Russian and the overall fic for me. It was brought to my attention by her that Russians don't skate in their lakes. But I was too lazy (and busy, but mostly lazy) to change it for the sake of accuracy... so I hope the angst and fluff makes up for that.

 

Nameless faces and bodies bustled about the airport here in Moscow, a thousand different conversations occurring at once. Every once in a while, as someone walked through the automatic doors behind Yuri, brisk air would blow against his backside. Each time caused him to shiver. He was tempted to move as he should have earlier, but he’d already been standing in this spot for just over thirty minutes. It might look weird if he moved now.

Yuri felt inexplicably nervous as he waited for Viktor’s plane to land. He’d been left in the dark the whole day yesterday—probably because everyone back in Hasetsu thought he’d focus better on the competition if they weren’t bothering him with minute-by-minute updates on Maccachin. In reality, he couldn’t stop worrying about the dog as well as Viktor. More so Viktor than anything else, though. He didn’t know what to expect when he saw Viktor today, and the amount of suspense was killing him.

He fidgeted with the zipper of his coat as he watched the line of people exit the terminal. Viktor hadn’t brought anything with him on his flight to Hasetsu—he’d left as soon as Yuri convinced him to, on the earliest flight back—so he wouldn’t be staying at baggage claim at all, unless he’d brought something back from the inn, which wasn’t likely. Yuri switched between keeping an eye out for Viktor’s familiar face and staring nervously at the digital terminal sign, so focused on his own anxiousness that he didn’t even notice Viktor until he was standing right in front of him.

One look told Yuri all he needed to know.

Immediately, he wrapped his arms around Viktor, squeezing him tight, wanting more than anything in the world for Viktor’s puffy, tired eyes to smile at him despite his grief. And though it sounded empty and would never feel genuine no matter how much it was, Yuri murmured, “I’m sorry,” into Viktor’s neck, unsure if he heard him but knowing it didn’t matter either way. Viktor didn’t reply, and he didn’t need to. Yuri knew that the last thing Viktor wanted to do right now is talk.

After a moment, they stepped apart and, without another word, headed for the exit. Yuri hailed a cab with a somewhat frantic wave and failed attempt at a whistle. The driver was a burly woman with fiery curls and warm but fierce eyes and a thick, Scottish accent. She turned down the radio (from which she was playing popular 80s tracks) when they stuffed themselves into the back and, in her accent, greeted them cheerfully. “To where will it be, lads?”

“Star Hotel, please,” Yuri replied.

Snow fell delicately to the ground, blanketing the ground with glittering white crystals. It was beautiful. He knew that Viktor loved the weather in Saint Petersburg—the ever-constant snow, the crisp salty sea air. Yuri glanced over at the other man. His eyes rested on the tops of his knees, never moving and barely blinking. One hand was on the armrest attached to the door, the other on the empty seat between them. Yuri peered back outside the window. His own free hand captured Viktor’s, hoping the sign of affection would double as a show of support.

Paparazzi had gathered at the hotel thanks to Yuri’s slip-up yesterday in saying that Viktor would be back today. As soon as the crowd saw the car, they snapped out of their bored stupor and stood at attention, cameras ready. Yuri squeezed Viktor’s hand gently. Viktor squeezed back.

They dodged and ignored every question thrown at them as they paid the cabbie and walked into the hotel. Some of them followed the pair into the lobby but no one was rude enough to go past the elevators. Viktor found his hand again as if he was the one who needed comforting right now. But the entire elevator ride and walk to the room was silent.

“I know you just got back,” Yuri said as Viktor pulled out his key to the room, “but maybe we should start packing. Our flight is in a few hours and—”

Yuri was cut off by Viktor’s finger on his lips. “Can we stay one more day? I’m not ready to leave again.”

Stunned by the vulnerability in Viktor’s voice, Yuri managed a nod before he was dragged to the bed, both of them shedding off some of their extra layers as they walked towards it. He crawled backwards across the bed and let Viktor collapse on top of him, though there was plenty of room for both of them on the queen bed. Yuri wrapped his arms around Viktor, wondering how on Earth he was supposed to comfort the same guy who’d been his comfort when Victor had died?

And he still didn’t know where he and Viktor stood after they’d kissed at the Cup of China. He kind of wished Viktor wasn’t so ambiguous about _everything_. It was like having an endearingly oblivious god around him 24/7. And to have that same god crying and grief-stricken in his arms now was unreal. All he wanted to do was help him and make him feel better. But, God, he just didn’t know how.

 

Hours later, Yuri woke up. From the twinkling city lights peering through the window and pitch night sky, he could tell it was late evening. Vaguely, he wondered if either of them had cancelled their flight before they fell asleep, but he doubted it. They probably didn’t, so they wouldn’t get their money back. Viktor probably wouldn’t mind. He was probably richer than his entire family combined… Still groggy from sleep. he barely comprehended Viktor stroking his hair. He must already be awake.

“Is that relaxing you as much as it’s relaxing me?” Yuri whispered. Viktor paused his movements for a moment, mumbled something incoherent, and continued playing with his hair. Yuri sighed in content, tracing circles on Viktor’s back. The atmosphere was unusually tranquil, considering the events of the past day. He couldn’t think of a time he’d felt more relaxed, yet somehow still in limbo between pure contentedness and sadness.

He splayed his hands against Viktor’s back, palms down, and allowed himself to feel the muscles beneath his fingertips—reminders of years and years of the hard work that had gone into Viktor Nikiforov’s skating career.

Yuri lifted his hands back up, reverting to drawing circles and other shapes, lazily, languidly. Before he knew it, he was tracing letters and then spelling out words. At first, they were meaningless—a jumble of nonsensical phrases he outlined on his back out of boredom. But Viktor was already half-asleep again, and his movements were becoming more leisurely. He wouldn’t be able to make sense of any of this, would he? It was obvious from the day Yuri first saw him skate that Viktor was very attune to his body. But he was in that dazed state that rested on the crest of half-awake and half-gone; he would hardly notice any change in the words Yuri traced on his clothed back. A miniscule confession while Viktor was distracted by the seductive lure of sleep wouldn’t hurt.

_Viktor._

Yuri regressed to tracing circles again, waiting for a reaction form the sleeping man on his chest, holding his breath for one, two, three seconds. Nothing. Not even a sleepy sigh or a twitch, and his hand had long grown still, though it was still tangled in Yuri’s messy hair.

 _I think I’m in love with you_.

Circles. No reaction. Yuri smiled ever-so-slightly. He hadn’t even been able to admit to himself, much less anyone else— _especially_ Viktor, that he might be in love with him. And although they had grown close since Viktor had arrived in Hasetsu and began coaching and even _kissed_ at the Cup of China Free Program, Yuri still wasn’t able to open up as much as he wanted to. He simply couldn’t bring himself to do much more than he already had, which was seek companionship in his coach.

Yuri sighed, turning his head to peer out the window. It really wasn’t worth thinking about any of this anyway. He had to focus on his career, first and foremost, and work on bettering himself. He didn’t have time to think about Viktor in any other way than as his coach. He had to keep improving and polishing his skills. He could always make friends—that wasn’t a problem—but romantic relationships could be pushed back. He had the rest of his life to worry about that. And whether that included Viktor or not was a different (and completely chaotic) matter altogether.

“Yuri?” Viktor mumbled. The man in question involuntarily tensed. How long had Viktor been awake? Had he actually been awake the entire time?

“Yes?” _Keep calm, Yuri. He’s not going to ask about what you just wrote on his back. You’re just being paranoid, as always._

“What did you—” _Oh, shit._ “—do to cope when your dog died?”

“ _What?_ ” Yuri choked, staring down at Viktor in shock, partially because he was expecting something entirely different and partially because of what Viktor had asked. The man on his chest had the audacity to look sheepish. But you don't just ask someone about their dead dog, _knowing_ their grief had caused a chain reaction of losses the last time they had skated competitively, and expect everything to be perfectly fine and dandy.

"Sorry," Viktor said. "I just don't know what to do right now, but I don’t want to keep crying.”

“I, uh…” Yuri blushed. He’d shaken off his grief by watching Viktor skate, learning his routine, practicing for hours and hours and hours on end. He spent so much time practicing that people he knew grew worried. He himself had been a little concerned for his own sake, but it had been a huge help. Learning Viktor’s routine had lit the flame in him again, and he found his love for figure skating. “I just skated a lot. I kept skating.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

“Wait, what?” Yuri asked, but Viktor was already on his feet and stretching. He already missed the feeling of Viktor’s body heat enveloping his own body. “Viktor, I’m pretty sure any rink near us will be closed.”

Viktor shook his head and began pulling on the extra layers he’d taken off earlier. Tentatively, Yuri mimicked his actions, curious and a little anxious. “I know a place nearby. Do you have money on you?”

“Well—”

“Never mind, I have some. My skates are with yours, right?”

“Yes, but Viktor—” Yuri cut himself off, watching Viktor pick up the duffel bag with both of their skating supplies as he tied the laces to his boots. He stood up. Viktor zipped the bag shut, having checked to make sure both their skates were inside, shouldered the bag, and took Yuri’s hand in his own once again.

“We will only skate for a little while, but you don’t have to.”

“Okay.”

With his free right hand, he pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and dialed a taxi service to meet them in front of the hotel lobby during the elevator ride down. Yuri couldn’t help feeling stunned when the cab arrived within a few minutes; he was still so used to American cab drivers taking close to thirty minutes to arrive in Detroit. But he certainly wasn’t complaining. Still hand-in-hand (and grateful no paparazzi were around to question why), they slid into the back seat.

A young man, perhaps only a few years older than Viktor, with the thickest eyebrows and the saddest beard Yuri had ever seen, greeted them with a steely onceover and grunt. “ _Chto ty khóchesh'?_ ”

“ _Lyublinskiy Prud, pozhaluista_ ,” Viktor replied, brushing off the man’s attitude with ease. The car ride was still silent, but Yuri didn’t mind. The light and airy feeling he’d felt when he traced his confession on Viktor’s back returned as Viktor intertwined their fingers. The fact that they were in a cab in Russia on their way to only-Viktor-knows-where had been shoved to the back of his mind, replaced by simply being able to relish in this moment. Everything else faded to background noise. The air was still. Even the night seemed unusually calm; the snow had stopped falling, leaving the sleeping city of Moscow wrapped in a glittering blanket of white.

Viktor didn’t let go of his hand until he had to take out his wallet to pay the driver. “ _Sdachi ne nado_.”

And then, as the cab drove off, Viktor took his hand again and led him down a path lined by a log fence. From where they were dropped off, it was only a five minute walk until they came to a small clearing that opened up to a larger clearing. In the clearing, there was little snow, as the thick verdure overhead shielded the ground from the snow. Viktor pulled Yuri towards a wooden bench. “Put on your skates.”

They both quickly grabbed their skates from the duffel bag and slid them onto their feet, leaving the blade guards on. Viktor picked the bag up again and tugged Yuri towards the larger clearing. Viktor had no trouble navigating the beaten dirt path on his skates but Yuri struggled more so Viktor walked slowly and stayed close. Yuri was startled to find that the large clearing was actually a lake. He knew that they were still inside the city, close to civilization, but the framing of the trees around the lake cut it off from the rest of the world. In a way, free. If he listened carefully, he could still hear distant city sounds—cars honking, tires screeching, music from what might be a house party—but if he didn't, he could hone into the serenity of this small, remote fraction of forest.

"I've only been to Moscow a handful of times," Viktor said, his eyes drifting over the glassy ice surface with a melancholy yearning. He turned to face Yuri. "I would always come to this lake to skate in my free time. Not to practice. Just to skate. Nobody was ever here to watch; nobody had expectations of me. It was the only place I could be alone without feeling lonely." He turned back towards the lake. "The lake itself represented a lot of what I've felt throughout my career—surrounded on all sides by so much civilization, so many people, but isolated all the same."

Yuri was speechless. Viktor was always pushing him to open up (particularly to him), to lay down his vulnerability on the ice and off, to put his all into each and every one of his performances, but Viktor himself had never opened up to Yuri. He never asked questions about his home life or any other personal questions. He guessed (and somewhat hoped) Viktor would simply share that on his own time whenever he felt ready to do so. But Yuri didn't know anything about Viktor beyond what he'd learned over the years as a skater and figure skating fan and what Viktor had told him in the time he's been his coach, which wasn't anything as significant as this.

"Um—you always have Maccachin," Yuri said, immediately regretting it as soon as the words left his mouth, forgetting for a minute exactly why they were there. His cheeks burned, but he met Viktor's gaze, hoping Viktor could see his silent apology.

Viktor gave him a small, almost sad smile, "I still have you."

Yuri couldn't stop himself from smiling back.

They both slid off their blade guards and stepped onto the ice. Yuri wasn't used to skating on a lake as opposed to a rink, as he'd never skated on one before. He wasn't sure what kind of effect they'd have on the blades of his skates... and he didn't know how to tell which parts of the ice were thick enough to skate on and which weren't. As if he'd read Yuri's mind, Viktor said, "Stay beside me. By that look on your face, I can tell you've never skated on a lake before. Just stay with me, Yuri."

Yuri wasn't interested in falling through the ice and slowly freezing to death from hypothermia or frostbite or both, so he heeded Viktor's advice and stuck to his side. This time, Yuri initiated and took Viktor's hand, letting Viktor guide him across the lake's surface. He somewhat leaned against Viktor, pressing into his side, allowing himself the pleasure of sharing each other's body heat. Viktor pulled him, then, to the center of the lake, snaking his arms around him and resting his head on Yuri's shoulder. They settled into a slow spin, wrapped in each other's arms. Yuri could just barely feel Viktor tracing circles on his back, between his shoulder blades, through the thick fabrics of his coat and other layers. Then they were a variety of shapes and precarious loops, swirling and easing strokes. These shapes turned into letters, which then turned into words, and then phrases, and then a sentence.

Viktor flattened his hands against Yuri's back and held him even more tightly than before, his face pressed against Yuri's bare neck. Neither of them said a word. Yuri wasn't even sure he had actually felt that. Had he really traced those words back to him? Did he mean it? Would this change anything between them? Was he sure he hadn't imagined that? Yuri's mind raced with questions be he remained quiet and tried to enjoy the moment. He didn't know when they would next get a moment alone like this, but it seemed they both knew it might not come until after the Grand Prix Final, whether or not Yuri took home gold (or any other medal).

It was hours before they headed back for the hotel, both of them beginning to shiver and clench their numb hands. (They'd even had to wait a few minutes to warm up their hands so they could untie the laces of their skates and tie the laces of their boots.) The same taxi driver came to pick them up, and he seemed to be in a better mood than before since he didn't grunt when he saw them again. The entire car ride was as silent as ever, as was the elevator ride and every moment in between. Rarely in that time were they not holding hands.

Viktor fumbled with his hotel key as he attempted to unlock the door and then walked into their room. Yuri followed in after him. As soon as the door shut behind him, Yuri grabbed Viktor's hand and pulled him back towards him, pressing their lips together. His heart raced as Viktor, though still stunned from the suddenness of the kiss, melted against Yuri, cupping his face as he pressed him back against the door.

"I'm in love with you," Yuri said, breathless, as they pulled away. Viktor nuzzled his head into his neck, pressing delicate, wet kisses to his bare skin.

"I'm in love with you," Viktor replied. He blew air against the places he'd just left kisses and took a step back. "Thank you for comforting me, Yuri."

The air between them crackled with a gentle electricity. The light and airy feeling had returned, tenfold, and Yuri was sure Viktor felt it too now, if he hadn't before. Neither of them were unsure of their feelings anymore; Yuri knew that things would be different, even if only slightly. He could also tell that, no matter what happened at the Grand Prix Final, this relationship—whether romantic or otherwise—was still fine tinder that could be the kindling for a long-burning flame.

Yuri followed Viktor to the bed, stripping himself of all the extra layers. They crawled in together, snuggling under the blanket and wrapped in each other's arms. Again, the rest of the world faded into the background as Yuri focused on that moment. His hand on Viktor's chest, the other clasped in Viktor's hand. Viktor's legs tangled around his. Viktor's peaceful face centimeters from his. Yuri sighed in content and let his eyes fall shut. No matter what happened at the Grand Prix, after, or any time in between, he knew they would be in this together.

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I just love these two so much. Both Mary and Perses are more than willing ears to listen to me talk about YOI (even Maya), and I love all of them for it. Also, isn't it weird how my spellings of their individual names is different from my spelling of their ship name? lmao
> 
> Happy holidays, y'all.  
> Cass


End file.
